Where the Impossible Happens

Building Israel, from the first grade up.

Walking my daughter Talia into her pre-first grade meeting, I hold her hand protectively, distinctly aware and somewhat surprised at the depth of my emotions. Crossing the threshold from kindergarten to first grade, from little person to bigger person, is a significant step in the life of a young child, and no less so for her mother. I wanted Talia to know how proud I am to be leading her through the gate of her new elementary school, towards endless opportunities and possibilities; a launch pad for both her imagination and her infectious excitement for learning.

It is easy to feel nostalgic at moments like these. Wasn’t it just yesterday that Talia entered our lives, a sweet bundle of pink in a sea of deep blue, the first daughter in our family? How has the time flown by so quickly?

We made our way hand in hand towards the principal’s office. The small waiting area was already filled with other soon-to-be first graders and their parents. I surveyed the scene, eager to learn more about Talia’s upcoming first grade experience. A smiling Israeli couple walked out of their meeting, their young daughter in tow. A British mom sat on one of the couches, seated alongside a South African couple and their daughters.

These five sets of parents, representing five disparate countries and cultures, all sat together.

After a few minutes, a young Ethiopian mother with a stroller joined the crowd, her young daughter standing at her side. Talia and I sat there as well, an American mom and her American-Israeli daughter. I could not help but marvel at the variety. It was almost like the United Nations. These five sets of parents, representing five disparate countries and cultures, had in all likelihood attended first grade on four different continents. Yet here we sat together today, preparing our daughters for their joint entry to first grade in the very same school.

In another time and another place this scene would have been impossible. Yet in the rolling hills surrounding greater Bet Shemesh, this synthesis is almost typical, a remarkable statement about the power of the present. Twenty years ago the hills that comprise this section of the city were a barren assortment of bush, brush and thorn. In the intervening time, neighborhoods have sprung up, breathing life into these hills, heralding the arrival of thousands of families from literally the four corners of the earth. The words of the prophets are unfolding before our very eyes.

Talia’s arrival at first grade symbolizes something far more monumental than the tentative steps of a child growing up. Beyond the personal story of a child and her family is a collective story of the tenacity and triumph of a nation. Gathered from our points of origin, each one of us undertook his own unique and difficult journey to arrive here in Israel. And here we synthesize. Here we build together. Here, even our daily mundane activities take on greater significance as they equal the realization of a vision that predates us by thousands of years.

The personal emotions of a mother and her hopes and dreams for her daughter pale in comparison to the gripping account of a nation, who with the help of God has risen against all odds to establish itself and flourish in our land.

Although they don’t know it yet, Talia and her fellow first grade classmates have been given a unique charge. Unlike first graders in other parts of the world who can simply focus on math and reading, inspiring stories and chesed projects, these first grade girls confront something far larger and more powerful. They must take an active role in creating and developing the dynamic future of the Jewish people in the Land of Israel.

Hopefully they will glean the necessary tools to impact change along the way. Above all else though, they come equipped with the knowledge that they stem from somewhere unique, a place far away from their current home, where their parents made the colossal decision to leave their families and communities and embark towards the unknown; to proudly realize a life-long dream. This knowledge, with its mix of pride and passion, serves as a compass for their distinct reality. Here and now there is something that is being built that is greater than the sum of its individual parts.

About the Author

The opinions expressed in the comment section are the personal views of the commenters. Comments are moderated, so please keep it civil.

Visitor Comments: 1

(1)
Denise,
September 13, 2012 9:57 AM

Thank you

I miss my daughter and grandchildren every day. Though I visit twice a year and there are phone calls and emails, I sometimes can't help but feel angry that so many precious moments slip by. Reading this article made me realize that my daughter's choice was the best one that she could have made for herself and her children. She has a wonderful husband and the children are surrounded by the warmth of a whole country.

Submit Your Comment:

Name:*

Display my name?

YesNo

Email:*

Your email address is kept private. Our editor needs it in case we have a question about your comment.

I've been striving to get more into spirituality. But it seems that every time I make some progress, I find myself slipping right back to where I started. I'm getting discouraged and feel like a failure. Can you help?

The Aish Rabbi Replies:

Spiritual slumps are a natural part of spiritual growth. There is a cycle that people go through when at times they feel closer to God and at times more distant. In the words of the Kabbalists, it is "two steps forward and one step back." So although you feel you are slipping, know that this is a natural process. The main thing is to look at your overall progress (over months or years) and be able to see how far you've come!

This is actually God's ingenious way of motivating us further. The sages compare this to teaching a baby how to walk. When the parent is holding on, the baby shrieks with delight and is under the illusion that he knows how to walk. Yet suddenly, when the parent lets go, the child panics, wobbles and may even fall.

At such times when we feel spiritually "down," that is often because God is letting go, giving us the great gift of independence. In some ways, these are the times when we can actually grow the most. For if we can move ourselves just a little bit forward, we truly acquire a level of sanctity that is ours forever.

Here is a practical tool to help pull you out of the doldrums. The Sefer HaChinuch speaks about a great principle in spiritual growth: "The external awakens the internal." This means that although we may not experience immediate feelings of closeness to God, eventually, by continuing to conduct ourselves in such a manner, this physical behavior will have an impact on our spiritual selves and will help us succeed. (A similar idea is discussed by psychologists who say: "Smile and you will feel happy.")

That is the power of Torah commandments. Even if we may not feel like giving charity or praying at this particular moment, by having a "mitzvah" obligation to do so, we are in a framework to become inspired. At that point we can infuse that act of charity or prayer with all the meaning and lift it can provide. But if we'd wait until being inspired, we might be waiting a very long time.

May the Almighty bless you with the clarity to see your progress, and may you do so with joy.

In 1940, a boatload 1,600 Jewish immigrants fleeing Hitler's ovens was denied entry into the port of Haifa; the British deported them to the island of Mauritius. At the time, the British had acceded to Arab demands and restricted Jewish immigration into Palestine. The urgent plight of European Jewry generated an "illegal" immigration movement, but the British were vigilant in denying entry. Some ships, such as the Struma, sunk and their hundreds of passengers killed.

If you seize too much, you are left with nothing. If you take less, you may retain it (Rosh Hashanah 4b).

Sometimes our appetites are insatiable; more accurately, we act as though they were insatiable. The Midrash states that a person may never be satisfied. "If he has one hundred, he wants two hundred. If he gets two hundred, he wants four hundred" (Koheles Rabbah 1:34). How often have we seen people whose insatiable desire for material wealth resulted in their losing everything, much like the gambler whose constant urge to win results in total loss.

People's bodies are finite, and their actual needs are limited. The endless pursuit for more wealth than they can use is nothing more than an elusive belief that they can live forever (Psalms 49:10).

The one part of us which is indeed infinite is our neshamah (soul), which, being of Divine origin, can crave and achieve infinity and eternity, and such craving is characteristic of spiritual growth.

How strange that we tend to give the body much more than it can possibly handle, and the neshamah so much less than it needs!